


The Hole in His Heart

by peacehopeandrats



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-05-08 09:45:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14691594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacehopeandrats/pseuds/peacehopeandrats
Summary: Quick SummaryRumple is awake in Hyperion Heights and has to deal with the loss of Belle all over again.TimingThis takes place after the episodes Beauty and Wake Up Call, and ends just before the episode Eloise Gardener. I wrote it way back around the time the episodes came on. Hopefully I anticipated events enough to make sense of things. Disclaimer, I DID go back in and add the Desk Sergeant's name once we learned it.If you read my fics, this is the bridge between my Once Upon a Time series and my Once Upon a Crime series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory "posting fanfiction makes me uncomfortable" remarks  
> I still don't like magic.  
> Luckily there ain't no magic in Hyperion Heights!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple checks himself out of the hospital and begins a new life awake, without Belle.

It was too damned bright in this artificial place that reeked of chemicals, plastics, medicines, and modern life. The intensity of the fluorescent lighting seemed to seer through his body as he dressed, yanking the cloth of his undershirt down with such force that he was surprised it didn't tear at the seams. He felt boiled, burned, and torn apart all at once. If only he could cut the power to the whole building with just the flick of his hand...

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes tightly and took in a slow, trembling breath to calm himself. He could feel his entire body shudder at the sharp realization that he was, in fact, alone in this empty pit of a place. He had to remember to be Weaver now; not a man who lost his wife, but an emotionless, lonely bastard that didn't have a care for anyone in the world. _At least the lonely part shouldn't be too much of a problem_ , he thought to himself as he forced his arms through the sleeves of his top shirt, and demanded that his quivering fingers work the buttons.

“Try as you may, there's nothing you can do to hurt me any more.” Those where the words he had said to Victoria Belfrey that first night in the hospital, and no truer words had been spoken. There was no pain like the sudden loss of your one true love, unless it was the pain of suddenly remembering they were gone. It was as if Belle had died twice, once in his arms, and once again in his mind. He had sworn he would never forget, and yet he did.

The first day of recovery, Rumplestiltskin had sunken into a deep despair. Using pills that he hadn't needed, he forced back the mental anguish of having seen Belle through the haze of anesthesia. She had been right there, leaning toward him, then instantly gone again, yanked away from him by consciousness. Though he was ashamed of it now, he had been happy to medicate away all feeling in the beginning, desperate to become a man with nothing to feel at all. How else could he learn to be Weaver? With no Belle to guide him, how could he not punish those who had stopped his quest to find the next Guardian and forever end his time as the Dark One?

Reaching for his coat, he caught a glimpse of the bottle of pills that had been delivered with his paperwork and left on his bed tray. His nose crinkled in disgust as he whispered, “I'm sorry, Belle...” and yanked up the coat. Throwing it on, he made a private vow to himself not to stoop so low again.

Immediately after Belle had died, Rumplestiltskin had been unable to contain his grief, becoming completely lost in it until their son, Gideon, had arrived and gradually pulled him from his paralyzing anguish. Though he had needed a lot of hand holding, he hadn't ever resorted to mind numbing substances before he came here and he knew he would go without them from now on. He just had to release this new grief and move forward from it.

From Gideon's visit he had learned that the quickest way for him to move on was to keep himself busy, which was what he intended to do now. The first step on his suddenly altered quest for the new Guardian was to compile a list of everyone from the other realms, then find out who had remained in Hyperion Heights and who had moved on. If he could do that, he would be ready for whatever was coming next.

“Someone's looking better,” piped up a chipper voice from behind him, breaking the flood of memories that repeatedly flashed in Rumple's newly awoken brain. He had yet to decide if it was the coma, the curse, or the medication that had caused these new panic attacks and the flashes of the past to push at him with relentless persistence, but he vowed to make that discovery be his second priority. It wouldn't do to have Weaver panicking over something as simple as a coffee mug.

Rumplestiltskin glanced over his shoulder to see the wish realm's Hook - no, Rogers - standing in the doorway. The pirate's daughter, Alice, hovered in the background, grinning over her father's shoulder. _At least they can be together here, even if they don't realize it,_ he thought to himself before turning away to gather the rest of his things.

“Things to do,” Rumple mumbled in answer, trying to keep up an accent that felt as foreign to his mouth as if he had grown an extra set of teeth to talk around.

Rogers crossed the room to join him. “You're the talk of the town, you know? Apparently, not only is it a miracle that you survived a shot through the chest, but you've healed in record time.”

“This is where the real suffering begins,” Rumple huffed as he put on his coat, forcing himself to ignore how true that statement was, on levels that no one in this city could possibly understand.

“Desk work isn't that bad,” the pirate answered cheerfully.

 _No time like the present to start learning how to do this,_ Rumple thought as he reached for his gun. _Might as well dive right in._ Outwardly, he replied only with, “I feel fine. I'm going back to work.” before tucking the weapon back where it belonged.

“Well, Captain wants you to stick it out for at least a week.”

Captain. The irony of Hook delivering the message that way struck Rumplestiltskin as mildly amusing. He couldn't help wondering how he would adjust to being awake during this new curse, where the world without magic and the people from his realm, and beyond, were all mixed together like whatever was in that horrid fruit jello they wanted him to eat yesterday. And no one had a clue about any of it. With Storybrooke, where everyone was from the Enchanted Forest, living awake in a cursed world wasn't at all difficult. There was time to build a character, and no one was the wiser. Here, all of that would be different.

A nurse arrived then, pushing a wheelchair. Unable to contain his look of utter disgust, Rumple stopped himself before he could make any comment and simply stared at the woman with what he hoped was a look that said, “If you think I'm getting in that thing, you're crazy.”

Seeing his expression, she left the chair just inside the door and exited.

“I take it you want to walk out of here,” Rogers chuckled.

“That's right. I'm gonna walk straight back to the precinct, have a word with the captain,” explained Rumple. Now was the time to begin all of those little white lies that were necessary to keep things as they were until it suited him to do otherwise. An old routine, one he had abandoned when he and Belle had made their new life together. Even though he didn't cherish the idea of falling back on his old ways, at least it was something familiar, and he wished he could bask in it for hours. “In the meantime, keep your eyes on your phone. I might have some errands for you to run.”

Trying to play the part of Weaver, Rumple gave a harsh pat to Hook's arm, then turned for the door. As he passed the wheelchair, he finally gave in to the emotions he had been bottling up inside, kicking the rim to force it out of his way. He heard it thwack against the wall as he strode out, counting his steps, forcing his eyes to focus on an imaginary point straight ahead, beyond anyone and anything that could get in his way. This was a world where everyone was watching, cameras were everywhere. He didn't have the luxury of allowing himself any further breakdowns while he was in a public building, and he had a stop to make before he had any private time at all.

Ignoring the pleas from the nurses who had been caring for him, Rumple marched himself past their station to the elevator, jammed his finger to the button and waited for the doors to open. As if by magic, they parted only a moment later and he punched the soft part of his fist to the circle that would lead him to the ground floor.

As the car shifted and sank through the building, Rumple shut his eyes tightly against the memories that refused to be held back. How long had they been cursed in Seattle? Surely he had been in elevators many times between his life in Storybrooke, as Gold, and his life here, as Weaver, yet all that would come to mind was the image of Belle, throwing herself into his arms after he rescued her from Hook at the library elevator all those years ago. The sensation was so real that when the doors opened, revealing only the hospital lobby, Rumplestiltskin actually let out an audible whimper representing the anguish he felt at the lack of anything to hold on to.

A few eyes turned in his direction, but such emotions were expected in places like this, where hope regularly met despair, and none of the people milling about seemed to think twice about it. Continuing with his day, as the watchers did with theirs, Rumple strode out of the double doors and made his way to the parking deck where he had been told his car was waiting.

“Well, no memories here. ” he said to himself once he found the vehicle. Though the paint was still dark, the new style was quite the departure from his old Cadillac, still parked somewhere in Storybrooke. The sight of it brought nothing to mind beyond days of mindless police work. “Small mercies, I suppose.” He got in, slammed the door with much more force than was required, then drove away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haunted by memories of Belle, Rumple finds comfort in remembering Gideon's words to him in the past.

Rumplestiltskin quickly realized that being a detective had its perks, the greatest two of which were the ability to get his hands on any files he wanted and having most of his time to himself. Alone in his office, he had collected a sizable stack of information on the various people who had traveled to this realm and dutifully searched each list, copying name and personal information for his own records. The task had brought a surprising calm to him, which was broken the moment Regina had walked in with Lucy, wanting proof of Henry's adoption in Boston. Though the interruption had been brief, it was also jarring, and the request, along with the bottle of MacCutcheon Scotch Whiskey had subconsciously knocked him back into the old days of being Mr. Gold, the Dark One. Before he had truly realized the downward spiral of all the progress he had made over the years, a deal had been struck.

Now, after following through on his end of the bargain, the bottle glared at him from across the apartment as he tried to work out the parts that he suspected Gothel, Rapunzel, and others were playing in what was to come. The previous calm destroyed in a storm full of regrets. Glaring down at the innumerable lists of Hyperion Heights residents, he willed them to calm him, wished with all of his might that the task of data collection could be as mindless a task as spinning, which had always cleared his head before. No relief came and the memories pressed on.

Lacy, in her short skirt, leaning over a pool table, a glass of MacCutcheon set to the side, waiting to be consumed...

The sinking feeling of watching Lacy drink glass after glass in the shop, seeing Belle lost to the inner torments of her cursed persona and being unable to stop it...

The absolute high of her desperate need as he thrust himself inside of her, spilling the last of a bottle to the living room floor...

Walking home from the shop after dark, arm in arm, flirting as openly as they pleased, still glowing from their wild lovemaking against the counter, Belle leaning on him to keep her balance as she asked if they had another bottle at the house...

Yanking away Baelfire's shawl to prevent the whiskey from ruining it...

Giving Lacy that final sip of antidote, which woke Belle from her curse and brought them back together again, then holding each other so that they could share the moment which was certain to be their end....

Hiding the last, half empty, bottle away instead of discarding it, because he couldn't lose that time of complete and total acceptance, ignorant at the time that this true happiness would come again...

Rumplestiltskin wasn't someone who took to drinking, finding the very need for alcohol disgraceful. When he was a boy, his father quickly drank away whatever money he managed to swindle from people. When he was a man, his first wife, Milah, had begun hiding from him inside the local tavern, where she would drink and gamble away the day. He had always detested Lacy's need to have a glass at hand, but tolerated her desire in the hopes that his Belle would one day awaken and the habit would be broken along with her curse.

Weaver, however, seemed to be just the sort to drown his sorrows. So when he had delivered proof of Henry's adoption to Roni's bar, Rumple had reluctantly indicated his desire for a glass. The burning of the liquid was like a fire in his soul, tempting him to set the pains of his past ablaze in the numbness that could come with one more swallow. It made him breathless with the conflicting needs to hold in the pain and confide in his friend at the same time. He had left the bar before the thought of having another glass became a need, but he couldn't escape the full bottle that had been his payment for services rendered.

His eyes lifted from the lists of names and drifted to the label for the tenth time in as many minutes. Why had he kept the blasted thing? Why hadn't he passed it on to some willing coworker, locked it away in the evidence room, or tossed it in the dumpster on his way home? Why did he have it so prominently displayed, like some kind of household shrine to the past?

With an angry growl, Rumplestiltskin finally lost his temper, sweeping his arm across the table and scattering the papers to the floor. The fluttering of white through the blur of his tears threw a memory sharply into his heart, hitting him as truly as the bullet had days before.

_Dear Gideon,_

_I am writing to ask you to come home. Your mother is gone. I know we had hoped that she would see you again once your studies had ended, but it wasn't meant to be. Please son, come when you can. I do not know how long I can be in this place without her. I need you at my side and I want to be a comfort to you in the sadness that I know you must feel reading this news. I know how close you were. She loved you so very much and she was so very proud of you._

_Love, Papa_

Rumplestiltskin folded the tear stained parchment, sealed it and sent it with a locator spell to find its intended recipient. As the letter disappeared, fresh tears filled his eyes. It was the first time he had used his own magic since they had decided to make their home in this realm. “I'm sorry, Belle,” he said over his shoulder to someone who had, less than one hour ago been talking to him about his destiny. Sobs shook his body and he leaned his elbows on the table, covering his face in his hands. “I promised no more magic... but Gideon...” His voice cracked and no sound could be forced out beyond a primal scream that suddenly overtook him.

In an instant, Rumple stood, overturning the heavy table in his rage. Why had fate done this to them? He had finally found the good man behind the darkness, just as Belle had known he would, why was he again forced to break his promises for the sake of family, just as he had with Baelfire? Why had fate ripped his one true love from his hands, just as he had discovered a complete peace in the unreachable depths of their love for each other.

“WHY?!” The rage in his heart completely overtook him and within three breaths, the chairs had joined the table in a haphazard pile on the floor. Spinning on his heel, Rumplestiltskin turned to swipe clear the shelves at his side, then the fireplace mantle behind him, but Belle's smiling face stopped him. Frozen in place, he gazed at the photo Gideon had taken of them on the porch, husband lifting wife over the threshold of their new home. Beside the frame, their teacup caught the light of the unending sunset that seeped through the window.

“Oh, Belle...” tenderly he caressed the glow, then timidly lifted the ceramic object to his chest, cradling it as if it were Belle herself and he had just caught her in his arms at the window. “It's just a cup,” he told himself, about to return it to its rightful place when the memories washed over him in a flood.

Belle holding the cup for inspection... “It's just a cup...”

The light coming in from the open windows at the castle... “I'll get used to it...”

The tilt of her head as she asked about Baelfire...

The sparkle of her eyes that would never gaze on him again...

That smile that would never brighten his world again...

The kiss that they would never share again...

Never...

The word might as well have been his own dagger, dripping its dark poison into his heart over and over with the promise of pain and suffering. Never. Never. Never.

“It's just a cup,” he whispered to himself again, his mind completely lost to his grief now, his heart clenching with every image of his past that came alive inside of him. Slowly he sank to the floor, eyes closed in a desperate attempt to erase his most recent memories. “It's just a cup, it's just a cup, just a cup...”

_It's just a cup... Papa... It's just a cup... Papa... Just a cup..._

“Papa!” With the shout came a tremor, as if his sobs had grown, finding a boundless energy, the strength of which was going to shake his very bones from his body. Then, in a burst of hot flame, his face stung and his eyes flew open.

Gideon peered down at him, tears moistening his cheeks. “Papa...” The young man's worried eyes searched his father's face for a minute before he spoke again. “I'm sorry, Papa... I... I didn't want to hurt you... but you wouldn't wake up...”

Rumplestiltskin reached a hand to his cheek.

“Papa... I'm so sorry...” Gideon apologized again, fresh tears rolling down his face.

“No...” Rumple shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly in the faintest of smiles that he couldn't feel, but that always came when he saw his son. “No, no, no, no... Gideon... It's all right. You're _many_ years too late,” he tried to explain, caressing the man's face with a fatherly pat, “but it's all right. When you were lost to us, I did the same thing to try and save you... and now here you are, trying to do the same for me.”

Gideon took a deep, shuddering breath, clearly struggling to put words to what he was feeling. His voice trembled and cracked as he tried to speak. “Papa...”

Rumple quickly leaned forward, drawing his son into a tight embrace, clinging to him as if their lives depended on the strength of their physical connection. “I'm here, Gideon. We'll do this together...”

For an immeasurable time, Gideon clung to his father, their tears mingling as they fell indiscriminately on one man's shoulder or the other. Once every drop was spent and they both were weak from sobbing, Rumple turned to look at where Belle remained.

“It's like she's sleeping,” Gideon said with a sort of absentminded innocence.

Rumple took a shuddering breath, “It was so peaceful, just the way-” His voice cracked and his shoulders shook as his body convulsed again with grief. “Just the way-” He tried again, but the words wouldn't come, only images of her eyes gazing up at him, the soft glow of the light from the window as she opened the curtain and fell, first here, then back at the Dark Castle. His heart shattered with the loss of those tiny moments. “Just how we-”

“Papa.” Gideon shook his father gently and gazed sternly into his eyes. “Look at me, Papa.”

The sound of his son's desperation took him away from the past and brought Rumple back to his most recent home. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, realizing how difficult all of this must be for the young man, who had lost a mother, just as he had lost a wife. “I should be stronger for you.”

“Nonsense, Papa,” insisted Gideon. “Mother and I spoke about what would happen at the end, how you would feel... She worried that losing her might upset you this deeply. I understand. Truly, I do.”

Rumple blinked. “When was this?”

“The last time I visited,” Gideon gave him that quirky little smile of his, though there was a sadness hidden beneath it. He righted a chair, then gently eased his father up off the floor and into the seat.

Rumplestiltskin watched as his son carefully tiptoed around the mess on the floor, setting the other chairs and then the table back into place. Tearfully his eyes fell to gaze at his trembling hands. He felt useless and so very lost. His mind fought to make sense of his situation. “That's why you got here so quickly,” he concluded in a quivering voice. “You were expecting to hear from me...”

With a sigh, Gideon turned to his father, eyes closed, and nodded. “Mother had said she didn't think it would be much longer.”

The news broke Rumple's heart all over again. Had everyone known of Belle's fate? Were all of Storybrooke holding a service to memorialize her while he sat defeated and alone by her side, weeping a like child? His body began to tremble with the hurt and loss all over again.

“Papa!” His son's hand steadied him immediately.

“Who else knew?” The anger inside of Rumple began to bubble and boil, and it took so much of what was left of him to keep it under control. “Did _everyone_ know she was dying but me?” Tears rapidly consumed his vision, blotting out everything but the light or color of the objects around him.

Gideon wrapped strong arms around his father, holding him tightly. “No, Papa. She was just... very aware of her age the last time I was here. She thought it would be a good time to talk, I suppose. She was so worried for you...”

Unable to speak after this revelation, the two sat quietly as the young man's words faded into oblivion and the older man's fresh tears had dried, son comforting father in the best way he knew how, until Rumple nodded at him. “All right... I'm all right.” Eyeing him cautiously, Gideon released his grip, retracting his arms with such care that it felt to Rumplestiltskin as if he were trying to contain a wisp of smoke. “I should... go outside... find a place to-”

“You already started, Papa.” The words came quickly, but lovingly. “Let me finish that work, Mother will need, perhaps, a sheet or...” Gideon's eyes wandered from his father to the living space where his mother's lifeless body remained, so peaceful. Anyone would think she had fallen asleep listening to her favorite story.

Rumple frowned, confused. “I haven't started anything.”

“The place where you were digging at the front of the house, near the ledge-”

Waving off his son's words, the Dark One humphed. “That,” he said in a tone between love and exasperation, “was the place your mother had decided to put our new well... Until she decided to turn it into a pond for fish, which we never did because she wouldn't allow me to fill it. She kept changing the shape or the slope...”

Gideon smiled at his father. “Papa, she was helping you for this day. Don't you see?” Rumple stood and walked over to Belle, then gazed up through the window at the digging he had done over the last few weeks. Gideon followed. “She wanted you to have happier memories of that work than what you would feel today. Now you can remember all of the times you teased her about the well, or the shape of the pond... all of the times you playfully complained at each other while she watched you work...”

“Oh, Belle...” Rumple sighed deeply. “You knew everything, all along...”

“She told me she would fold a sheet in the closet upstairs, and she has marked her favorite roses to be planted for the grave...”

Rumple just nodded, afraid that any words he tried to force out would break into pieces. Gideon patted him once, then left the house to gather the last of the things they would need.

**

“I know why I kept that bottle,” Weaver half shouted, half sobbed to the ghost of a memory, pacing the room as he ran a hand through his hair. “I kept it because I want it to be a sign from you, Belle... I want it to mean you really _can_ see me from wherever you are now, that you're still waiting. I kept it because I kept the book...” He spun on the label, staring it down as if it were some wild animal that could be held at bay by the intensity of a human's will. “You always tested me, pushed me to become the man you knew I could be... This is a test. It has to be. And you know why? Because I'll go _mad_ in this place without you!”

Tears began to stream from Rumple's cheeks as he realized he already had lost some of his sanity, awake in this dump without anyone to turn to, without Belle to both accept him and push him all at the same time. And the memories. Why did they haunt him so? Why did they, quite literally, threaten to suffocate him whenever they surfaced? Why had everything regressed to the time before he had left home to find the Guardian?

“Please, Belle,” he whimpered sadly, desperately. “I need you...”

He let a soft chuckle escape through his sobs as he bent to pick up the papers he had sent flying only moments before, imagining how ridiculous he looked talking to a bottle of whiskey as if it were his wife. The photographs at least made sense, they were in her image, but the bottle was only part of a memory. If Belle had been where the bottle stood, she would have sat just as quietly through his outburst, but then would have tilted her head to the side and asked, “Feel any better?” or “Did that help?” The bottle, of course, did nothing.

Once the papers were collected and placed on the table in semi-organized piles, Rumplestiltskin looked at the time. Three in the morning. Maybe his emotional state had been a result of sleep deprivation. Though his Weaver personality was obviously as immortal as Rumplestiltskin, he had clear memories of sleeping every night, which wasn't a typical need for a Dark One, but in a land without magic, was now a requirement. He decided that going to bed was probably in his best interests, though it was certainly the last thing he wanted.

Without even a thought to changing into sleeping clothes, Rumple entered the small bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, rubbing his temples to try and clear his mind from the distractions of the day. Outside a burst of wind sent dead leaves whisking against his window pane, making them click and rasp like the sounds of a fire. He realized just how much he missed having a fire crackling in the night, a part of his life that went far beyond Belle, to his life with Baelfire. The click and hiss of the burning wood and the dancing flame had been a lullaby to his mind back then, even after the spark that had nearly burned the house down. A fire had meant warmth and safety, and when Belle came into his life the dance of the flames always accompanied the image of her reading, or the sound of her breath as she slept at his side.

Dropping his arm over his eyes to block out any hope of recognizing the reality of his situation, Rumplestiltskin turned the sound of the leaves into the comfort of a warm hearth as he quickly fell into a deep slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle finds her way to Rumple at last, but is it real, or just his mind trying to cope with being alone?

The flames were so bright, and the heat so intense that the air being pulled up the chimney drew large particles of dust along with it, but Rumplestiltskin could not turn his eyes from the fire. He was so close that it consumed every inch of his vision and he watched each tongue dance as they gobbled up their fuel with reckless abandon. It was hypnotizing, a salve for his tired soul. He knew little else than that for some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on, he really wanted to have his mind numbed right now.

“Rumplestiltskin, you're here.”

The familiar voice sent both a pleasant shiver up his spine and a shot of anger into his heart. He spun from the fire and pointed a finger accusingly at the person standing behind him. “ _This_ ,” he shouted, “Is the exact reason-!”

He cut himself off, mid sentence, to stare at his hand, covered in scales, the nails blackened and pointed by the magical curse that had consumed him so many years ago. He shifted his fingers, flexing them as if checking to see that they still worked. “No,” he whispered to himself. “I'm … I've just come from Hyperion Heights...”

A soft, warm hand closed tenderly over his own, twining its pale fingers among his rough ones, holding them with as much love as he had ever felt in his lifetime. “You're dreaming. You'll see things the way you feel, not the way they are.” There was the faintest hint of a giggle that traveled the air with those words, tickling his ear and pulling at his heart. “Remember?”

Hesitantly, he raised his eyes to meet his wife's deep blue pools. She was young again, smiling and gazing at him the way she had always done, from their time in the castle, all the way to their last moments together. The image quickly blurred, wavering as his breath shuddered and his body quaked.

Belle reached up to wipe tears from his lashes, clearing his vision. “Oh, Rumple,” she whispered softly. “I know everything that has happened, but it's all right...”

Rumplestiltskin frowned, his lip quivering. “How can living without you be all right?” The tender tone of his words mingling with his Dark One voice felt strange to his own ears. “How can _any_ of it be all right? I haven't found the Guardian, I'm trapped in the Land Without Magic... Belle, I let the Darkness consume me again. I failed you, I couldn't keep my promise-”

“But you tried,” she finished for him, wiping at more tears. “You saved Alice.”

“It isn't really you saying that,” said Rumple, releasing her hand and tapping his own temple with a finger. “You're up here. Just a dream.”

Belle ran her hands down his sides, over his hips, and lower, at the fastening of his pants. “Do I feel like a dream?”

“You always felt like a dream,” he tried not to squeak as his body involuntarily reacted to her touch. Pointing his finger at her playfully, he added, “But that's exactly what a dream would say.”

His wife smiled, but didn't answer. Instead she leaned into his side, looked up at the ceiling, around at the walls, and finally studied the meager furnishings in the room. “I don't remember this place. Where are we?”

Rumplestiltskin huffed and brushed aside the question with a flick of his hand. “The Dark Castle, of course.”

Belle's forehead creased with confusion, even as her eyes lit up with the possibility of learning something about his past. Oh, how he had missed that look. It made him want to give her the very stars in the sky, all at once, twice over. “I have been in every room in the castle and I don't remember this one,” she insisted.

“Well, I never used it,” he told her simply, fighting the urge to childishly toy with her, but unable to resist with the darkness so obviously a part of him. He could tell she wasn't expecting that answer and he unwillingly grinned at the pleasure her uncertainty brought him. This mutual teasing always brought them closer and he now clung to the flirtations of the old days as if they were a lifeline.

Of course, she knew him too well for him to get away with his old tricks any more, though even in their first days together his old tricks never seemed to work on her. She would simply sit, silently, head tilted to the side, eyes sparkling with expectation as she would patiently await an answer to her question, much as she was doing now. She would never give up and he would always give in.

After her long silence, he conceded, “Not long after you came here, I hid it from you.”

“This was your room,” Belle realized out loud. He nodded in answer as she looked around again. “But... It's so empty.”

Rumplestiltskin giggled, a childish sound that always accompanied his scales. “You expected something else? Potions and workbenches, perhaps? It's a bedroom, not a laboratory. And Dark Ones,” he added in a quiet tone, getting his nose almost tip to tip with hers, “don't sleep.” He tapped her nose with his, then released her to take a few steps toward the fireplace.

“You're keeping something from me, Rumplestiltskin,” Belle teased.

He spun on his heel to face her, one hand resting on his chest. “What makes you say that?”

She tilted her head again, contemplating an answer. “I... I don't know but there's something you're not telling me.”

“I haven't told you a lot of things about my past,” he humphed, fluttering his hands as if he could flap away history like bugs in a breeze as he spoke. “”Did you know Bae once used the dagger to control me?”

“You,” Belle interrupted, nudging his arm when he was close enough, “are trying to distract me.”

“Hm.” He thought about his predicament. She was right and he knew that she knew it. Belle could always read him like any of her favorite books. “Is it working?”

“No,” she tried unsuccessfully to hold in a giggle. Reaching out both of her hands to hold him at arm's length, she stiffened, as if readying herself for a lecture. “Now, Rumplestiltskin. Stop pacing and fidgeting and tell me what happened here. If it's so important that it makes you nervous, then I want to know. Let me help...”

There was a long silence as he thought about Belle's words and their current situation. He tried to work out why he was here, why Belle was with him in this place where she had never been. Was it his unconscious mind trying to talk to her when he needed it most? Was he trying to put her in a place that she didn't belong since he was alone in this new city and a unwilling resident of Hyperion Heights? Releasing a long, slow breath, he reminded himself that all of this was just a dream and none of his reasoning really mattered.

“Nice try,” he said at last, squinting his eyes to study her, raising his finger skyward now, in protest. “Anything that I know can be in my own dream, and your not knowing about this room doesn't make _you_ real.” He lowered his finger to poke her shoulder gently, but let it linger a bit longer than it needed to, tracing the line of her sleeve for an added breath before pulling away.

“Rumple, you talk to me all the time... You believe you heard me when you saved Alice... And in the land where you are right now, there are many people who think that their loved ones can talk to them in their dreams once they-”

“Well, I'm not _from_ that realm,” he insisted with an angry hiss, turning and marching quickly out of her reach, refusing to hear this beautiful, living image admit that the real Belle was somewhere that he might never see her again.

“Baelfire was able to talk to Emma,” she said casually, wandering to the window and gazing out at the world below.

Rumple frowned, knowing she was right, to a point. Once they had all become family, Emma had deeply described her experience to him. “That,” he corrected, “happened when we were traveling between our world and the underworld.”

Quickly a grin spread across his wife's face, one that said she had caught him at his own game. “And _we_ have been in the dream realm together...”

Opening his mouth to protest, then closing it again, Rumplestiltskin took in the room from a new perspective. What he had thought was dust at the chimney, was floating around in the air all around them. His eyes widened as he came to the realization that only in his shared dreams had he encountered these drifting motes in such number.

Afraid that Belle would vanish away in a puff of fictional dream-dust, he moved to stand beside her at the window and tentatively reached out a hand to caress her cheek, his voice lowering to scratchy whisper. “ _Are_ you real?”

She nodded slowly and his eyes filled again with tears of hope and loss, joy and pain. The swell of so many emotions caused him to stumble backward. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I'm sorry, Belle... I … I just can't believe it.”

Again Belle nodded. “You don't have to. But you needed me, and I promised I wouldn't leave you.” She reached out to draw him close again, pulling his body up against her own, and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. “Oh, Rumple, it doesn't matter if I am real. What matters is that I can say 'You're a good man. I know it.' You have those words inside you, no matter when or where I am. You just need me to make you listen to them sometimes. You always have.”

Rumple could feel his body responding to hers, his skin flushing with a need that he hadn't felt since the day he lost her. “I suppose it doesn't matter in the end,” he answered, glancing around the room as if he expected it to change into some other place while he watched. Everything was just as he'd remembered it.

Belle took a step away from him and began to explore, walking along the outer wall, letting her fingertips dance along the stone as she moved. There wasn't much to see, of course, only the fireplace, the bed, and a chair by the window. The walls contained nothing but emptiness otherwise. Finally, she sat at the edge of the bed, arranged her skirts and looked up at him. “Now,” she said in her playfully scolding tone that conveyed her expectation to hear the whole truth from beginning to end, “Why did you hide this room from me?”

Rumple struggled to find a believable answer that would hide the truth from her at the same time. “It didn't have anything worth cleaning in it and I needed you to work where you were most useful.”

Belle cocked her head to one side, smirking up at him. “Rumplestiltskin,” she teased. “You didn't forbid me from coming to the western room of the castle because it was useless.”

Abandoning the view from the window, he took a few steps toward her and began to tell the room's story. “All right... Yes, this _was_ my room. And before you came I never used it. Then, one day I found myself standing here, doing nothing at all.” He moved to a spot in not far from the fireplace and gestured at the floor, staring down at the stone's curve as if it could clear his memory.

“Nothing...?”

“Well...” Rumple waggled his head from side to side, trying to decide just how much to tell her. “Not exactly. You see, you had been here for a few months by the time I had started to... hm... design a reason for you to enter.”

Belle's eyebrows rose and she almost laughed. “You were daydreaming about me.”

He pointed an accusatory finger at her. “I wanted you to be more comfortable,” he insisted a little too quickly to be anything other than a cover for his own emotions. “But I couldn't find a way to bring you here without-”

“Giving yourself away,” Belle finished for him.

Rumplestiltskin's mouth twitched, but he didn't argue. Instead he said, “I believe _I_ am the one telling the story of this room.” She gestured for him to continue and he nodded his thanks. “I would come here almost every night to pace and think. I walked the floor in every direction, trying to decide how I should call you in.”

Belle's smile softened and her eyes filled with a fondness that reflected so many wonderful memories it was almost heartbreaking. “And what did you choose? _If_ I'm allowed to ask, that is...”

“Ah,” Rumple gestured at the bed with a flourish, as if presenting it to her for the first time. “I decided that the best thing to do was to have you change the linens.”

“You wanted me to make the bed.” Her look of honest disbelief made him giggle. “But Rumple... did you ever use it?”

“No. Which is why the linens needed changing. The coat of dust on them was quite remarkable,”

Belle shook her head at him, smiling. “You expected me to run off because you wanted to add to my pile of laundry?”

Rumple swallowed down the urge to stop telling his story, feeling the fear of uncertainty rise up in his chest, just as it had every time he had thought about calling Belle up to this room. He turned to look at the fireplace, eyes searching the ledge for any number of familiar pictures to talk to that would never have existed in this time. It was so much easier talking to a photograph.

“I expected you to realize that the room was mine, and protest my giving it to you.” he finally explained. “You would be most confused at first... and I would naturally have to clarify...” Rumple's hand pressed to his chest and his chin lifted proudly, playing at an arrogance that he didn't at all feel, hiding pain behind play, as he had done so many times before. “I would say, 'That, my dear, is precisely why the room must be cleaned. I can't have my housekeeper sleeping in such filth.'”

Rumple finally turned to look at her, but his eyes fell to the rich red of the bed cover rather than meet her gaze. “Naturally, I expected you to protest, but I would insist that I could spend my time elsewhere if you would rather be here alone...”

Clasping his hands to stop them from quivering, Rumplestiltskin suddenly stared down at the boots he hadn't worn in ages. “And that's where I would stop myself,” he concluded shyly, “Because I was a hideous monster with claws, fangs, and scales, but you... You had so much beauty it was almost unbearable...”

Belle stood up to join him, wrapping her arm around his and lending him her strength to steady himself, as she had always done in their lifetime together. “You were afraid I would send you away.” Her voice was so certain. She knew him so well.

“I wasn't afraid of it, I knew it,” Rumple answered in a tone sterner than he intended. “How could you accept me that way? Others might have, but-” Belle frowned sternly at those words, a hint of jealousy in her eyes and he hurried to emphasize, “... _years_ before you came.... but they were as consumed by darkness as I was. Their acceptance was meaningless. What you would have seen...”

“What I would have seen,” she whispered gently, reaching up and running her hands through his hair. “Was a lonely man with a gentle heart. It may have been hidden _behind_ the darkness, but it was there. Besides... If you had asked at the right time, I _might_ have agreed...”

Now it was Rumple's turn to look surprised, his mouth twitched and his eyebrows rose at her, seemingly of their own accord. “I see...” Unable to help himself, he returned to their usual flirtatious game, falling into the rhythm as easily as breathing. “And if I told you it began some time before you released Robin Hood?”

Belle's fingers left his hair and wandered slowly down his neck, over his shoulders and played in the strings of his vest. “I would have said yes.” She whispered, the words against his cheek, barely filling the breath that it took to say them.

Rumple blinked. “You wouldn't have,” he insisted.

She nudged him. “I would,” she countered. “I... might have spent a few nights around that time wondering how far the scales would go...” She flushed a bright red closed his eyes against his gaze.

“I think you'd be disappointed,” he half chuckled, half grumbled in response.

“You told me once that I was the reason you insisted on improving Jekyll's potion... This was when you started working with him, wasn't it?”

“Actually,” Rumple admitted. “What drove me to help him was the night I brought the baby home. I had already spent so many evenings pining away for a love I thought I could never have, dreaming of your touch, your kiss... When I turned around and saw you holding the baby in your arms, I didn't see some random child, I saw _our_ child. My heart couldn't handle so much hope for our future.”

“And you couldn't risk losing your dark magic. True love would have given you the cure, which would have kept you from finding Baelfire.”

“In part, yes. But, Belle...” He squeezed his hands tightly in hers, bringing them to his lips and kissing them tenderly.

Belle leaned closer, silencing him by murmuring softly in his ear. “I also remember kissing you...”

Rumple shivered. “Hm. So that you could change me.”

“Because I loved you.” Her words trailed a line from his earlobe to his lips and ended as her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his mouth to meet hers.

Overcome with a need to hold her, Rumplestiltskin lifted Belle in his arms and carried her to the bed that he had never used as the Dark One. “If this is going to be a dream,” he insisted, “then we're going to do it properly.”

Belle grinned up at him, settling her body into the mattress. She opened her mouth to say something, but Rumple leaned down and silenced her with a slow, gentle kiss that grew more passionate the longer his lips lingered on hers. His hands wandered over her clothing, fingertips caressing skin where he could find it, hypersensitive of every shift and twitch in reaction so that each touch would bring more pleasure than the one before.

When they finally parted, he moved to her side and the two shifted naturally from one position to the next, as only couples who have spent a lifetime together can do. Propped on his elbow, he settled at her side, letting his free hand tease and play with the ties of her clothing, loosening neckline and waist, gradually exposing more skin as he moved. His lips trailed kisses on her neck and shoulders, but always returned to her mouth, lingering there the longest as they shared the heat of their building passions.

Over the course of what felt like eternity, Rumplestiltskin gradually exposed her skin, kissing here, caressing there. He pulled at the strings of her bodice and pushed at the loosening cloth until it had nowhere else to go. He gradually hiked her skirts until they were bunched at her hips, playing his long, Dark One nails up and down the length of her legs, as far as he could reach.

Driven into a desperate need, Belle pulled him on top of her, pressing her hips tightly against his, chasing the movements of his body with her own. Swiftly, her hands worked the fastenings of Rumple's vest and shirt, moving with years of experience that didn't match the timeframe of their surroundings. She exposed his chest, finally pulling the leather and cloth over his head so that it became tangled around his arms.

“Trying to entrap the beast?” Rumple asked in a husky, Dark One whisper. Straddling her body, he lifted himself to sit, freed his arms, then tossed the shirt and vest away. The light from the fire danced over his skin and he tried not to be self conscious about the way Belle's eyes traveled over his scales. The newness of her actions seeming unfamiliar, but welcome all at once. When she finally reached up to touch him, he shivered in delight.

Taking advantage of his trembling body, Belle lifted herself to sit so that she could properly meet his gaze. Holding him in place on her lap with light caresses and loving kisses, she pressed her self against his chest.

He could feel his body responding, his pants growing tighter around him. Obviously realizing this need, Belle smiled and teased, “I think I have the beast well trained...”

As if on cue, Rumplestiltskin pulled Belle's dress up over her body, guiding her arms higher so that he could complete the job in one motion, freeing her of the many layers and exposing her soft skin to the warm glow of the flames beside them. His heart skipped in his chest and his breath caught hard as his eyes took in the sight of her in her underclothes. It had been so long since he had last held her that it felt like another lifetime entirely.

With a look of concern, Belle began to speak, but he silenced her with a slow shake of his head. “You're just so beautiful,” he whispered with tears in his eyes.

“Less wrinkly,” she teased.

A scowl crossed Rumplestiltskin's face and he almost shouted at her. “No.” Her body twitched uneasily underneath him and he reached up to tentatively caress her face, trying not to be unnerved by the sight of his cursed hands on her tender cheek. “If you are really Belle, you know that age _never_ lessened my love for you, _or_ the depth of your beauty.” He drew her close, holding her as if his arms were all that was giving her life.

Belle smiled and rested her head against his shoulder, allowing him this moment, seeming to soak up the tenderness as desperately as he was clinging to every second of their time together. They were still for a while, listening to the crackle of the fire, until Rumple could no longer stand to have his hands idle. Tenderly they shifted to Belle's side and crept up to her breasts, cupping them and teasing them free of their bindings.

As his hand lingered on her tender skin, Rumple suddenly froze, fear of driving her away overcoming his mind as he recalled all of the horrible things he had done as this cursed shell of a man. His heart raced and he couldn't help reliving all those nights he spent dreaming up this very moment, only to grow angry at the inevitability of her rejection once his intentions would become clear. “Belle-”

She caught his hand before he could pull it away. “Our love is stronger than anything you have faced, Rumple. If I have to believe that I was as beautiful to you that morning before I fell at the cottage as I am right now, then you have to believe what I see in you here.”

Rumple's hand shook and he tried to steady it. “How do you see anything but a monster?”

“I already told you what I saw back then. I saw a man who carried a heavy burden so that his son could be safe.” She placed a finger over his lips to keep him from objecting. “I saw someone with an eternal youth that reached beyond his slim, strong body, and made a brightness deepen his soul. I saw a man with kind eyes and a kinder heart. And the rest...” Belle's hands trailed down his chest and played with what part of his pants that she could reach. “Well, I already admitted wanting to see the rest...”

He watched her tuck her lip into her teeth and saw her need fill the blueness of her eyes and bring a flush to her face. She was completely irresistible and his heart was so full of love for her that he could deny her nothing. After kissing her gently, Rumple moved to the edge of the bed and began the struggle to unlace and free himself from his high boots. Once finished, he stood and took a step away as he nervously fumbled with his pants. He tried not to feel Belle's eyes on him, but her gaze caused him to hesitate, gripping the fabric tightly closed.

“Belle,” he tried again, “You don't want this... Gold, or maybe Weaver-”

His wife frowned at his words. “I already told you, Rumple. I want _you_.” Her eyes lifted from his hands up to his face and caught the fear there. “You're worried you'll hurt me, or I'll send you away.”

“Only two of the things that crossed my mind, actually,” he admitted in his childish whimper.

Belle grinned. “All right,” she said, quickly removing the last of her clothes and making a show of getting herself settled in the bed. “In order for you to find the Guardian, you have to be certain our love can last beyond anything, right? So let me show you that it does,” she insisted, reaching into the air for him to join her.

Finally giving in, Rumplestiltskin pushed down his tight pants and stepped out of them. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest that he was sure it would leap into the fire. He watched Belle take in a long breath and let it out slowly. Her eyes lingered exactly as they would have in Storybrooke or their cottage, and after a long, agonizing moment, she made room for him in the bed. Swallowing hard, he joined her.

Almost before he was under the covers, Belle had settled against Rumple's side, one leg draped over him, her head nestled on his chest. Her fingers danced over the contours of his upper body, now and again trailing lower to tease, but not quite touch, where he needed her most. Though he fought the urge, a giggle escaped him.

Belle lifted her head to gaze at him, her eyes sparkling. “That may be the only thing I have to get used to,” she said.

Rumple played at being overly serious. “Hm. Sorry. Won't happen again,” he insisted in one of his voices from another land.

As Belle stretched her body to kiss him, Rumplestiltskin pulled her close, unable to contain his love for her any longer.

**

The fire had died down to a mere speck of what it had been by the time the two were finally spent. Rumple took in a long, deep breath, enjoying their mingled scents as much as he enjoyed the feel of Belle's head resting on his shoulder.

“I didn't run away,” she whispered. He couldn't see the smile, but he could tell it was there.

He kissed the top of her head and let his hand play along her spine, his fingertips dancing lightly over her skin wherever they could reach. “Hm,” he mumbled contentedly.

Belle lifted her head, teasing him as she had so often before, once they were spent. “Have I finally defeated the Dark One?”

“You know,” he whispered, “That this power never came from the darkness.” His hips shifted against hers as he chuckled softly, a sound that was more Gold than Dark One or Weaver.

“Milah's loss,” harrumphed Belle, putting her head back to her husband's shoulder and settling into a comfortable silence.

Rumple thought about telling her that she was the one who had given him the confidence and the desire to be as he was here, just as in any other situation, but his eyelids felt heavy and his heart felt light, and most importantly, his mind felt so perfectly at ease in this moment that he couldn't conceive of altering it with words. _If I could just hold you here forever_ , he thought to himself, _Let this be my eternity..._

Suddenly Belle's head shifted, her chin poking him uncomfortably. “There's someone at the door.”

“How can anyone be at the door in _our_ dream?” Rumple pulled her closer for a longer cuddle, desperately willing the moment to return to what it had been.

A loud pounding on wood prevented his wish from coming true.

“Not here,” Belle insisted, propping herself up as she tried to catch his gaze. “In your apartment.” When his eyes refused to open, she nudged him. “Rumple. You should answer. It's Killian...”

With a sigh, Rumple pulled her close. “You might have left me for a pirate once, but I won't do the same to you,” he grumbled.

The pounding grew more intense and shouts of “Weaver, are you in there!” could be heard through the fog of his dream.

“Your people need a savior,” Belle teased. “I'll be here again, if you promise to come to bed for me.”

Rumplestiltskin shivered at the thought. “Deal,” he said, tapping a finger to her nose and moving to kiss her tenderly one last time, closing his eyes to savor every sensation that washed over him.

“Just remember to change before you let anyone in,” Belle whispered into his ear as the fire transformed to the flash of electric lights bouncing against the glass of his apartment window.

**

Weaver's eyes flew open. “Belle!” He sat up abruptly, hands flailing around in the sheets as if thrashing desperately would somehow dig her up from the depths of his dreams. “Belle...” With tears filling his eyes, Rumple-now-Weaver resigned himself back into his loneliness. “I'll come back,” he whispered as he stood from the bed, gazing down at the pure mess he had made of the covers. Remembering Belle's words, he glanced down at his clothes, moist with his spent need for her, and couldn't help smiling. _At least it had been as real as it could be_ , he thought to himself as he crossed the room to grab a change of clothes, shouting at the apartment door, “Yes, yes. Hold on!”

Tearing off his sticky clothing, Weaver stumbled into his clean things as he made his way to the front door, turning the handle only once his pants were securely fastened and his white under shirt was settled on his body.

The face that greeted him wasn't who he expected.

“You aren't K- .. Rogers,” Weaver frowned at Desk Seargeant Ryce, catching his near blunder at the last second. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Everyone at the office has been trying to get in touch with you,” the man said in a worried tone. “You weren't answering your phone and-”

Weaver waved him off as he struggled with arranging the buttons on his blue over shirt. “It's dead. I fell asleep and forgot to plug it in.” Finishing his task, he glared at the other man who still hovered in the doorway. “ _What_ are you _doing_ here?”

“The chief sent me to get you,” Ryce answered. “Rogers found a body.”

With a groan, Weaver nodded. “Lead the way.” He gestured down the corridor of the apartment building to get the other man moving and out of his way. As he snatched up his coat to follow, he couldn't help mumbling, “Are all one handed pirates fated to keep me from my wife?”

Slamming the apartment door shut, he stomped away, unable to hear the rattle of the objects on the other side of the wall, jostled from the force of his temper. As the bottle of MacCutcheon trembled in it's place, it sounded for all the world like a woman's melodic laughter.


End file.
